Dear Basic Bitches:
Here are a few things you may find helpful in the future. And when I use the pronoun you, I mean more specifically me.
1. No matter what anyone says, you do not look like Reese Witherspoon, and her bangs will never work for your face.
2. Sure snaps are over in 10 seconds, but no one forgets the shit you snapped when you were drunk. Especially that rap solo where you thought you sounded a little bit like Kanye. TRUST ME.
3. Just because you have a massive ass doesn’t give you the right to shake it every time Meghan Trainor’s “All About That Bass” comes on, and the fact that you find that song empowering is depressing. #rockonmeghan #bigbootiehoes
5. And finally, you are not Pocahontas. Stop thinking feathers and arrows are appropriate body art! But by all means… Don’t forgo the feathers for some dumb line about not sinking, or an infinity tat, or a crazy mix of all the above.
If any of these ring true… maybe you are basic. Maybe you’re the best at it. But it’s time we focused on the silver lining, and that is the very simple fact that none of us (hopefully) have convinced ourselves that this waxed surf board look should catch on…
Let’s Talk About Your Generation
I JUST TURNED IN MY APPLICATION FOR GRADUATION.
I expected bells, streamers and naked dancers to expel from the rafters while I stood in awe of the future, took long yogi breaths, and waited for the realization of this accomplishment to sink in.
I would have also accepted a spontaneous, synchronized dance sequence from the faculty in Student Life.
Instead, I had to pay a $230 fine.
HELLO, LIFE!
Where the hell was Ann Perkins? I needed a victory dance!
This whole college bit has been a longer road than expected. I left a full paid scholarship at LSU for life as a hipster hairdresser, and now $32,000 later (mostly in UC parking tickets)…
I’m almost dancing, bitches! With or without those rafter whores.
The funny thing about this whole approach of graduation is that I’ve suddenly become scared. And I don’t mean scared like R. Kelly is hiding in my closest. I mean scared in the sense that…
THIS IS SO PERFECT. I DON’T WANT TO EFF IT ALL UP.
So in a weird, twisted attempt not to send my life to the bottomless pit that is student debt and jobless twenty-somethings with passion, vision and no grit…. I do nothing. And I do mean NOTHING. I’ve let deadlines for applications pass without warning, I’ve stopped looking into grad school programs, and I’ve nearly convinced myself that I might be able to accept a B this semester. Justly knowing I will hate myself for this all come Fall 2015.
I’ve also stopped color coordinating my closet and left my coffee habit for matcha powder.
WHO AM I? I want Cap back. The trouble is I’m not sure how I’ve lost her, and it’s really quite hard to find something when you aren’t sure when or how you went about losing it. Over Summer break, my mother said I wasn’t the same girl she remembered. She meant it as a complement, but it rang true in so many other aspects.
Which brings me to my random, social media prompt of the day…
Who invented Time Hop? I hate them.
Here’s why:
The more I read about the person I used to be – the more I cannot connect to her. Is it possible to change that much? To have all of your beliefs shifted. To have your very being questioned? Two years in Time Hop time may be nothing, but it feels like light years.
And why does this all hunt me when I’m meant to be full speed ahead?
I’m not sure I want the old Cap back entirely, but if I can’t have her – I’d like to at least know where this new bitch fits in.
So, here’s to me getting it together.
Here’s to graduation, and May, and songs sung in unison, and whichever
aspects of Cap that lay ahead!
Cheers!
Keep Your Hands Where I Can See Them.
Sometimes we run to escape.
Sometimes we run to lose weight.
If you’re like me, you run to play your new favorite song on repeat with no judgment from the rest of the world.
(Or all the above really)
Currently, I’m obsessing over OK GO’s new album, Hungry Ghost. More specifically, this single… Another Set of Issues.
Today’s run felt as if I was not running to escape or running to lose weight. I was simply running to make it back to a laptop and quickly tell the world that this song has to be heard. Preferably as you run upstream near a large body of water in the midst of a glorious, Fall afternoon with your hands outstretched from your sides like an emotional bird that was just freed from captivity.
Or, I guess you could just play it now.
Sometimes I hate the emotions songs draw out of me, as I tend to have no control over them. I once balled my eyes out when the Eagles’, “Desperado” came on the radio.
I was on a date. Did I forget to mention that part?
Some songs are depressing, and like “Deperado”, I only listen to them when forced. Some songs are inspiring, and empowering, and so damn addicting.
I play those songs on repeat, whilst running.
I love songs that seem to tell you someone understands. Even if that someone doesn’t know you, and never will. Apparently, given the lyrics, they’ve obviously felt the way you have.
That’s a connection. Real love, bitches.
Now, go enjoy some Hungry Ghost, and tell me I’m not the only one who feels like Damian Kulash is your new BFF.
-Cap
Oh Hey Mom
Funny that as I get older I am somehow completely aware of the people in my life and utterly unaware of the thoughts they possess of me. Normally, I would see that as a good thing, but lately I’m learning that this world is all too small. And more importantly… I’m realizing my mother is an active member in social media. And people on social media have a lot of opinions.
My mother is great. Sincerely. She is the reason I love Elton John, Beatrix Potter, reading, writing, and that horrible show, SNAPPED. She’s taught me to draw. She’s showed me the crazy, healing powers of snuggling. She lets me completely space out of the world for months at a time, and yet.. She’s still there patiently waiting when I return to society. She let’s me be me.
Isn’t that a fucking beautiful thing?!
But see… There lies the problem. Mom taught me better than all of this. And yet, she’s still forced to watch me behave poorly. How awkward to grow into adulthood with the whole world watching! How terrifying to grow up with your mother seeing your lack of standardized, life achievements broadcasted on social media streams. Life as a 2014 young adult is brutal.
Take me to DOWNTON!
But seriously, this post was meant to be deeper than this. I wanted to explain the beauty in being true to yourself, but of course.. I’ve turned it around to an overtly, disgusting, public plea for a mother’s acceptance of her daughter’s awkward years. I wish I would have experienced this with the rest of the world… You know, at age 16 or what have you. But I was too caught up in wacky church groups.
So, to all of you seeking your next accomplishment to boast about over likes and shares… Cool your jets, man!
My mom can see you overachieving!
I often feel like my desires in life are so far from the norm I see on media sites. I don’t find the quest to fulfill every standard life goal appealing. Those posts of pregnancy, house hunting and children make my palms sweat and my heart crumble. I want to unfollow you. I want to throw you a curve ball! I want to understand these people I’m surrounded by, but I feel like I know you all… Because I know one. Sometimes I wish I wanted those things as well. People say that comes with time, but I feel like I’m centuries from that. We aren’t meant to follow a predestined path, right?! We are meant to fail, we are meant to succeed…when we deserve it, and we are meant to be completely lost at times. At least I hope so.
You see, life isn’t a formula. It either comes barreling through all at once, or it’s nothing at all. We can’t judge our standards based on a norm, because these norms are so sensationalized. I feel like I’m in a constant battle with the hyper real, and that’s really something to fear. How can we discover ourselves if we are surrounded by all of these crazy notions of normalcy? I’m learning the art of blissful unawareness. The art of letting go.
So yes, the social media depiction of your life looks epic… but the personal experiences, growth, learning, memories, mistakes, laughter and tears…. That’s what we’re all after right? We’re still kind of all in this together. No matter our paths. I can support you, but I can’t be you. I can’t pretend that we want the same things. Life isn’t something we come about in a particular manner. It’s about learning how to make it through as yourself.
Southern Wild: A starting exposition
As it usually goes, I have a million and one things I should be accomplishing at this dawn struck hour. Yet, here I am contemplating which post should start off this Southern Wild adventure… which takes precedence, obviously.
You see, in the world of procrastination – I rule. I will not be modest on the account. I could build an empire in two days, as long as you’ve given me at least five other, more important tasks to complete. I guess that’s where this blog comes in. I need a little escape from the rather daunting projects currently going on, and what’s more fun than procrastinating daunting projects? Exactly. NOTHING.
So far tonight, I’ve successfully stalked every acquaintance I admire on Facebook, Twitter and Insta, I’ve planned a full menu for an imaginary restaurant in downtown Charleston, and I’ve not only created a logo, title and blog post for this blog we speak of now… but I’ve also cultivated the very thought of it! All this while a 30 page short story on Cajun heritage is hanging over my head. (In which I’ve completed a mere total of 4 HORRENDOUS pages)
Hopefully, Southern Wild will host my account on life’s events in a manner that makes it seem more interesting than it actually is. Because, let’s be fair… it’s pretty sub par.
Words of Advice that will help you if you so choose to follow the posts:
I don’t like rambling. However, It seems to be a never ending side effect of writing and drinking bourbon. Two things I happen to enjoy greatly. For this, I apologize in advance.
Secondly, I have an obsession with ellipses… and short. one. word. sentences. like. this.
Thirdly, I have a weird thing where I think attempting to forego my basic bitch image is funny. It’s not funny. I get that. Still, I think making fun of current hype words is my true passion in life. I often write (and speak) in a satirical format that seeks to ridicule every individual who genuinely uses words and phrases like: bae, bye Felicia, #WCW, #selfiesunday, and so on. So, the gansta talk will be here because it’s totally bae, and that’s what I’ve grown accustomed to, bitch. #YOLO
Also, you should know I write and compose rap songs for my pup. It’s a real problem.
So, if these all seem like doable exceptions to make – please tag along while random thoughts get transferred into the blogging world. It may be wild at times, as the lack of sleep and increased blood alcohol levels do permit my mind to express every aspect of my little life… but that should be the fun in it all.
To new adventures.
Cheers,
Cap
Southern Wild 